


the summer of our...

by queerio_gaymer



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, F/F, Humor, but also really wanna write a trope, roommates au, spurious plot bunny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24740650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerio_gaymer/pseuds/queerio_gaymer
Summary: "Uhh...make yourself...comfortable...?"Alex jolts at the voice, releasing a sound from the back of her throat that she definitely never wants to repeat. She's on her feet in an instant, whirling as the blood rushes to her head and her vision fades back in.A young woman stands in the hall entryway. She seems to be in the ballpark of Alex's own age, dark hair in a sloppy high ponytail, a brow arched in bewilderment. She's dressed in an orange sports bra and black leggings, a small towel slung over her shoulder, sweat beading on her skin. And she's got a death grip on a sturdy-looking water bottle, holding it upside-down, ready to slug Alex's head like a softball if she needs to.Alex sure as hell isn't gawking, but holy shit."Who the fuck are you?" she snarls, hands balling into fists.The woman blinks slowly, frowning. "...I live here, robber extraordinaire."* Alex escapes to her family's cabin for a vacation to get her head on straight, and gets more than she bargained for. (A "and they were roommates" fic)*
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	the summer of our...

The universe had a twisted sense of humor, and it had decided Alex was it’s new punchline.

Her trip was...headache-inducing. To the extent that Alex had wanted to lose herself in the drive, she guesses that she succeeded. But,  _ fuck. _ A flat from the construction on the nearest on-ramp, delaying her until right smack in the middle of rush hour? Being in a pissy mood to finally, finally, get out of the city only to immediately have the low fuel light come on? And then when she yanked her phone out of the center cup holder, to have her frayed charging cord snap?

Yeah, it was a  _ long  _ nine hours. 

Alex lets out a weary sigh when the sign for Bensley Lake comes into view. In her chest is a tangle of emotions she doesn’t even try to unknot. 

“It’s just a landing place,” she whispers, stopping at the familiar main intersection where on the other side the lake stretches into the horizon. A sharp pang needles her heart. Her grip around the steering wheel tightens, knuckles paling.

A landing place. Somewhere to get her head on straight.

Again.

“Fuck.” Alex flips on the radio, her phone dead in her backpack on the passenger seat. She doesn’t quite remember the stations, so she flips through at random. News, no; country, no; current top hits, no --

“--Lake’s Trudges, your favorite oldies-but-goodies station! Next up - ”

Her dad’s favorite. He had always had this station on, in his truck where he’d belt out whatever lyrics were on, or in the cabin, head bobbing along as he read a book in the living room, each page taking him a distracted five minutes.

Alex turns it over to static.

The wandering way to the cabin has her skirt the edge of town. Blue’s Scoops has gone out, replaced by a Starbucks. Stupid, Alex scoffs. Would she kill for an iced coffee right now? Sure, but what the hell does coffee have on Paulie’s homemade ice cream and his obnoxiously loud macaw?

Besides likely higher ratings on its health inspections.

The old park that marks their side street sits empty, the playground mulch overtaken by green. It’s roped off, some sign staked out that she passes too fast to read.

And then, impossibly, she’s here.

It’s like the place has sprung into being directly from her memory. The horseshoe gravel driveway curves towards the olive-green cottage style home. Maple trees dot the yard, while dogwoods stand flowering sentry closer to the cabin.

The only thing out of ordinary are the glaringly fuchsia planter boxes that hang from the front porch railing, marigolds and snapdragons poking their heads out.

Alex pulls into the driveway (she’s long since thrown away the garage remote) and shuts the car off, but it’s as if she’s been glued to her seat. 

It’s dissonant. As a kid, this was her favorite spot in the world, a dreamy sanctuary with a never-ending yard to roam and trees tall as turrets to climb. As a teen, it was a backwater place she was dragged back to every other year for a happy family appearance for the neighbors. 

Now - it’s just a house. Smaller than those right on the lake and even several on the block, with a sloping yard that must’ve taken her dad half a day to mow. It’s cute, perfect for a couple, but a two bedroom one bath with a thin-walled open concept and a rambunctious child? Yikes.

_ Our special place,  _ her dad had called it one summer evening when they’d all been out having a picnic by the lake. One of the last times they had.  _ You know I used to come here when I was your age, kiddo? It looked a lot different then - _

_ Were there dinosaurs?  _ Alex had impishly asked, and her dad had thrown his head back and laughed, her mom even chuckling --

Ugh.

Alex rakes a hand through her blonde hair, then shakes herself out of her stupor. Hoisting her backpack onto her shoulder, she gets out and treks up. The keys shake in her hands. 

For one horrible second the key catches in the lock, unmoving, but then it turns.

Alex lets out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. 

The house smells fresh; her mother must have left a window open the last time she was here. It’s a weird first thing to notice, but it’s as if...as if she has to inhale it, to liven the breathless past she’d swept aside when she’d left home.

The layout is familiar - the door opens into a liminal space between the kitchen on the left and the living room on the right. Straight ahead is a hall that leads to the sliding glass door to the back porch, as well as her old bedroom. At the farthest right of the house is the bathroom and master bedroom.

Alex ignores her gurgling stomach and opts for the living room with a yawn.

Her mother has updated the furniture in the cabin. Alex shouldn’t be surprised - it has been ten damn years, after all. But it looks so… homey and eclectic and  _ welcoming, _ with an overstuffed couch and evergreen fake plants and landscapes hung in bright bold frames.

Her mother’s dating someone new then. Someone she likes enough to let decorate.

Probably rich, Alex thinks as she shrugs of her bag and kicks of her shoes. Accidentally so, if his taste is anything to go on. Her mom wouldn’t date someone down to earth otherwise, god forbid.

She puts a hand on the back of the couch and leaps over, sinking into the cushions with a groan. Her muscles are tense from the drive, and it feels so good to just...relax.

Alex’s eyes droop, but her thoughts chase through her head too furiously to allow her to drift off. 

Now that she’s slinked off to this far away corner, she starts to second guess herself. What was she thinking, coming here? Did it matter? Wasn’t it all pointless, anyway? It’s an embarrassment, really, running when all she needs to do is stand still and buck up.

Alex throws an arm over her eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Her heart races relentlessly on.

She loses track of time lying there. Alex refuses to be so yuppie as to call it meditation - a forced chill out. Or something.

“Uhh...make yourself...comfortable…?”

Alex jolts at the voice, releasing a sound from the back of her throat that she definitely never wants to repeat. She’s on her feet in an instant, whirling as the blood rushes to her head and her vision fades back in.

A young woman stands in the hall entryway. She seems to be in the ballpark of Alex’s own age, dark hair in a sloppy high ponytail, a brow arched in bewilderment. She’s dressed in an orange sports bra and black leggings, a small towel slung over her shoulder, sweat beading on her skin. And she’s got a death grip on a sturdy-looking water bottle, holding it upside-down, ready to slug Alex’s head like a softball if she needs to.

Alex sure as hell isn’t gawking, but holy shit.

“Who the fuck are you?” she snarls, hands balling into fists.

The woman blinks slowly, frowning. “...I live here, robber extraordinaire.” 

Alex’s stomach sinks, an icy chill settling in her veins. “This is my  _ family’s  _ cabin,” she protests heatedly. Her mother wouldn’t - would she? This had been her dad’s, for christ's sake!

“Listen,” the woman holds up her hands placatingly, eyeing Alex warily. “I’ve been renting this place from Mrs. Raisson for three years, I don’t know what to tell you --”

She would, then.

Alex grinds her teeth. “Mrs. Raisson, huh.”

The woman’s brows furrow, and then, suddenly, her blue eyes widen. “Wait…” Before Alex can react, she’s scampering around the corner into the kitchen. From over the half-wall bar top separating them, she watches as she takes a business card off the fridge, scrutinizing it and looking up to Alex. “Are you...shit, are you her daughter?”

Alex shrugs, on edge. “Technically.”

The woman just gazes at her for a drawn out moment, crossing her arms. Then, “That’s rough. She’s a bitch, dude.”

Alex is so startled that she can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out of her. 

The woman cracks a smile, tossing the card on the counter and stepping up to the bar. “Mackenzie Jordan,” she greets, offering her hand.

Alex hesitates. “...Alexis Raisson. Alex.” She gives her hand a brief shake, dropping it quickly. The pit returns to her stomach, and she chews her lip nervously. “I’ll- I’ll get out of here.”

And go where? The campground, maybe, she can sleep in her car and figure out what she wants to do.

Mackenzie clicks her tongue, a glint in her eye that Alex can’t decipher. “Uh, you’re my hardass landlord’s daughter. I kind of have to grill you. Otherwise I’m passing up potential intel that could help convince her to allow me to have a dog. Stay for supper at least?”

Alex shakes her head. What kind of weirdo invites a trespasser over? 

“I have beeeer,” Mackenzie offers with a lopsided, hopeful grin. 

Well...shit. What can it hurt?

“Fine. One drink.”

Mackenzie pumps a fist in the air, grin growing. “Hell yeah! Just lemme…” she pivots, bounding over to the fridge and opening it with a flourish. She piles tupperware in her arms. “Meet me at the patio- you know your way around? I’ll grab everything.”

Alex watches her a second, then pulls herself away, shuffling down the hall. 

What has she agreed to?

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
